Latest news with #CillitBang
Reuters
3 days ago
- Business
- Reuters
Reckitt eyes new options to advance Air Wick unit sale, sources say
LONDON, June 3 (Reuters) - Britain's Reckitt (RKT.L), opens new tab is considering new options to advance a sale of its Essential Home business, home to Air Wick fresheners and Cillit Bang cleaners, after bids came in below expectations, two people with knowledge of the process said. The company still plans to pursue a sale, the people said, who spoke on condition of anonymity because the talks are private. Private equity firm Advent remains in talks for the assets, one of the people and a third person said. Reckitt, which also makes Mucinex cold medication and Durex condoms, said in July it was looking to offload a portfolio of homecare brands by the end of 2025. The proposed sale comes at a challenging time for businesses with factories around the world as they navigate U.S. President Donald Trump's tariffs, which are roiling supply chains, boosting costs and dampening shopper sentiment. Reckitt could keep a stake in the business or structure a sale another way to bridge a gap in valuations, one of the people said, adding that some of the bids came in below its hopes of over 4 billion pounds ($5.4 billion). Reuters could not determine if other bidders remained in the process. Reckitt and Advent declined to comment. Bankers and CEOs have hit the brakes on mergers and acquisitions since Trump launched his trade war, with fewer deals getting signed than during the bleakest days of the COVID-19 pandemic and the 2008-2009 global financial crisis. Reckitt said in April that it was "continuing to progress" the sale of the Essential Home business but that market conditions might affect the time frame. Consumer staples companies are considered relatively resilient to economic downturns, but big brands like Reckitt, P&G (PG.N), opens new tab and Unilever (ULVR.L), opens new tab increasingly face competition from cheaper private label brands that gained popularity during the pandemic. Reckitt's Essential Home business has struggled for several quarters, with sales falling 7% in the first quarter of this year to 482 million pounds, about 13% of total revenue for the quarter. Reckitt has been undergoing a turnaround under CEO Kris Licht, who has sought to reassure shareholders concerned about the strength of the company's brands in North America and Europe, where consumer confidence has been dwindling. ($1 = 0.7397 pounds)
Yahoo
19-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Shadows, Ballet Black: What would you do if your sister kept killing people?
You're a young nurse, and you have a beautiful, confident sister. You love her, but there's just one problem. To date, she has murdered three boyfriends in what she insists is 'self-defence', and summoned you to clear up the mess. Just how many times can you find yourself reaching for the rubber gloves before the whole thing gets a bit much? And, now that your sis has started seeing a doctor you secretly adore, where do your loyalties really lie? Such is the simple but strong premise of My Sister, The Serial Killer, one of two premieres that make up Ballet Black's brooding new double-bill, Shadows. About 50 pithy minutes straight through, the piece is an adaptation, by BB's founder and artistic director Cassa Pancho, of the gallows-humorous 2019 bestseller of the same name by Oyinkan Braithwaite, essentially an elaborate riff on the dictum that you may be able to choose your friends, but you sure can't choose your family. With a little (ok, quite a bit) more money, Pancho might have been enjoyably able to preserve the book's bustling Lagos setting. As it is, the piece plays out in a present-day everytown, with lighting and a handful of props working hard to set the scene, along with a cinematic score by Tom Harrold. Part neo-classical, part contemporary, it plunges us straight in medias res, with Korede (Isabela Coracy, dancing and acting her heart out) steeling herself for what she knows she's about to find: Ayoola (Helga Paris-Morales), in a blood-soaked nightdress, with a fresh cadaver just inches away. Out, yet again, comes the Cillit Bang... That spirit of pithy, punchy storytelling continues, with the gentle romantic promise of Korede's lyrical little duet with the doctor Tade (Ebony Thomas) soon cruelly swept away by his and Ayoola's whiz-bang first meeting. Instantly, the potentially blood-soaked love triangle is set up, with Puerto Rico-born Paris-Morales displaying not only the come-hither physical slinkiness but also the looks to convince as this most fatale of femmes. (The work feels in many ways like a fusion-in-dance of the neo-noir film Basic Instinct and friendly-serial-killer telly series Dexter, which can only be a Good Thing.) There's also an impeccably staged party scene, with Ayoola coolly poisoning a fellow in a boudoir while a clutch of revellers groove seductively in the room next door to Toots and the Maytals' 1968 reggae classic 54-46 That's My Number (a song I've particularly loved ever since winning a battle of the bands with it, though that's a story for another time). And Pancho also capitalises on her art form to serve up two melodramatic but still gripping nightmare scenes, which lay bare Korede's efforts to process her and Ayoola's actions. Ultimately, it is the evident closeness of the two leads' relationship that carries this outlandish story plausibly along and keeps you hooked. It's enjoyable pulp fiction in the main, though there is a deeper point at its core: if a beloved family member did something horrific, what would you do? (Rating: * * * *) The opening piece, A Shadow Work, is about the same length as My Sister... but feels longer. The British debut of New Yorker Chanel DaSilva, it delves into the titular works of 'shadow work', the Jungian practice of therapeutically laying bare the subconscious. I enjoyed Taraja Hudson's lead, vividly exploiting DaSilva's protean choreography, and Acaoã de Castro as the psychological Virgil to her Dante; neat use, too, of an old-school document box as a metaphor for suppressed emotions. What it lacks is a sense of progress, of really going somewhere – by the end, the promise of the concept and earlier scenes has rather fizzled, however capable the collective performances. (* * *) Still, treat it as a mood-darkening amuse-bouche for the knife-wielding main event, and you're likely to have a good evening. The Hackney Empire audience certainly did, never mind the fact that the entire bill was somehow cobbled together while the company was unenviably between bases. Not for the first time, hats off to BB. At Hackney until March 15, then touring until July;
Telegraph
15-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
Shadows, Ballet Black: What would you do if your sister kept killing people?
You're a young nurse, and you have a beautiful, confident sister. You love her, but there's just one problem. To date, she has murdered three boyfriends in what she insists is 'self-defence', and summoned you to clear up the mess. Just how many times can you find yourself reaching for the rubber gloves before the whole thing gets a bit much? And, now that your sis has started seeing a doctor you secretly adore, where do your loyalties really lie? Such is the simple but strong premise of My Sister, The Serial Killer, one of two premieres that make up Ballet Black 's brooding new double-bill, Shadows. About 50 pithy minutes straight through, the piece is an adaptation, by BB's founder and artistic director Cassa Pancho, of the gallows-humorous 2019 bestseller of the same name by Oyinkan Braithwaite, essentially an elaborate riff on the dictum that you may be able to choose your friends, but you sure can't choose your family. With a little (ok, quite a bit) more money, Pancho might have been enjoyably able to preserve the book's bustling Lagos setting. As it is, the piece plays out in a present-day everytown, with lighting and a handful of props working hard to set the scene, along with a cinematic score by Tom Harrold. Part neo-classical, part contemporary, it plunges us straight in medias res, with Korede (Isabela Coracy, dancing and acting her heart out) steeling herself for what she knows she's about to find: Ayoola (Helga Paris-Morales), in a blood-soaked nightdress, with a fresh cadaver just inches away. Out, yet again, comes the Cillit Bang... That spirit of pithy, punchy storytelling continues, with the gentle romantic promise of Korede's lyrical little duet with the doctor Tade (Ebony Thomas) soon cruelly swept away by his and Ayoola's whiz-bang first meeting. Instantly, the potentially blood-soaked love triangle is set up, with Puerto Rico-born Paris-Morales displaying not only the come-hither physical slinkiness but also the looks to convince as this most fatale of femmes. (The work feels in many ways like a fusion-in-dance of the neo-noir film Basic Instinct and friendly-serial-killer telly series Dexter, which can only be a Good Thing.) There's also an impeccably staged party scene, with Ayoola coolly poisoning a fellow in a boudoir while a clutch of revellers groove seductively in the room next door to Toots and the Maytals' 1968 reggae classic 54-46 That's My Number (a song I've particularly loved ever since winning a battle of the bands with it, though that's a story for another time). And Pancho also capitalises on her art form to serve up two melodramatic but still gripping nightmare scenes, which lay bare Korede's efforts to process her and Ayoola's actions. Ultimately, it is the evident closeness of the two leads' relationship that carries this outlandish story plausibly along and keeps you hooked. It's enjoyable pulp fiction in the main, though there is a deeper point at its core: if a beloved family member did something horrific, what would you do? (Rating: * * * *) The opening piece, A Shadow Work, is about the same length as My Sister... but feels longer. The British debut of New Yorker Chanel DaSilva, it delves into the titular works of 'shadow work', the Jungian practice of therapeutically laying bare the subconscious. I enjoyed Taraja Hudson's lead, vividly exploiting DaSilva's protean choreography, and Acaoã de Castro as the psychological Virgil to her Dante; neat use, too, of an old-school document box as a metaphor for suppressed emotions. What it lacks is a sense of progress, of really going somewhere – by the end, the promise of the concept and earlier scenes has rather fizzled, however capable the collective performances. (* * *) Still, treat it as a mood-darkening amuse-bouche for the knife-wielding main event, and you're likely to have a good evening. The Hackney Empire audience certainly did, never mind the fact that the entire bill was somehow cobbled together while the company was unenviably between bases. Not for the first time, hats off to BB.
Telegraph
13-03-2025
- Politics
- Telegraph
Sir Keir slays NHS England, the King of Quangos
Another week and another escape into the lives of real people by the Prime Minister. Westminster's zoo keepers are really due a performance review. This time Oinky had not gone to market but to Hull, there to accuse the public sector of being 'over-cautious', 'weak' and 'intrusive'. Physician, heal thyself! Today the PM was introduced by a woman with an unplaceable transatlantic accent who spoke almost entirely in managerial platitudes and acronyms. People were there, she said, 'to power the self-care movement within our company'. Quite how being dragged out of your coffee break to watch a man who'd been poured into a blue shirt to talk about civil service reform is meant to boost 'self-care' is anybody's guess. It was more like they'd been dragged in to witness an act of self-abuse. Sir Keir thanked the LinkedIn-personified woman and did his standard shirt sleeves-up, random hand-gestures opening. 'This must be an incredibly exciting place to work!' he said. Well it was, until about two minutes ago. After a long preamble about waiting lists and Ukraine, he finally got to the meat of the policy. His aim for the British state was something called 'maximum power'. He made this sound like a particularly advanced form of dishwasher tablet technology. You could see the people in the row behind him thinking: 'Cor, him off the Cillit Bang adverts has aged a bit!' Clearly, unlike so many of these set-piece moments, it appeared that Sir Keir might actually be about to unveil something of genuine import. You could tell an announcement was imminent because the PM suddenly began inserting all sorts of caveats. 'Of course,' he said, 'I'm not questioning the dedication or the effort of individual civil servants.' (Thus spake a man who had never been on hold to the DVLA.) We can take comfort in the fact that when a politician says they're not doing something you can be pretty certain that that is precisely what they are doing. Finally we got to the big moment. NHS England was to be scrapped, the King of all Quangos slain in one fell swoop. Goodness knows I find the Prime Minister's tone and manner deeply irritating. A sort of auricular scabies. And I think most of his policies – from his malevolent hatred of farmers to the Great Chagos Robbery – are borderline suicidal for the nation. However, if we can finally ignite the bonfire of the quangos, about which the Tories talked and talked but never acted for 14 years, then he will have done Britain a serious favour. Perhaps while we're on a roll, the PM may even find time to take his Muskian chainsaw to the £9.5 billion energy quango run by Ed Miliband, the Office for Value for Money, and others among the 27 arm's-length bodies set up by... one Keir Rodney Starmer since last July. Still – there is more joy in heaven over a sinner that repenteth. Whether there'll be joy in Whitehall is another matter entirely.
